


Addenda slip

by skyholdherbalist



Series: Smite the ashes [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Noir, Bookstores, Detective Noir, Drinking, F/M, Film Noir, Kissing, Mild Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-26 02:23:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13848084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyholdherbalist/pseuds/skyholdherbalist
Summary: Kirkwall Noir.  Rylen is a private detective with questions, and a lady with a bookstore may have a few answers...





	Addenda slip

**Author's Note:**

> [For Rylen Appreciation Week 2018 - Day 5](https://rylenappreciationweek.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I was captivated by the idea of private detective Rylen, so here he is in ~~a ripoff of~~ an homage to my favorite scene in noir cinema, [the bookstore scene from The Big Sleep](https://youtu.be/Sqoxk3SrZRw). 
> 
> In this Noir AU, the Templars are a mysterious underground association, a yakuza-style order who use dangerous methods to fight magic and are marked by certain distinctive tattoos. All of them are tattooed, not just Rylen. 
> 
> Also let’s pretend you could drive a car in Kirkwall.

That whole summer the heat pressed down on Kirkwall like an iron someone forgot to lift, and ruined their clothes.  We were all singed: droughts emptied the harbor, Lowtown slums burned in random fires.  Then the wind shifted, and the air was sticky with a rain that just wouldn’t fall.  

In my bookshop, in a dark, dead corner of Hightown, the books sat heavy, and the pages were curling in on themselves.  So was I.  I hadn’t seen a customer in hours that day, hadn’t seen a man in… well, the weather wasn’t the only thing too dry these days.  

The door shook and rattled its rusty bell when it opened.  I thought I heard a thunderclap in the distance.  Then he walked in.  

His hat, and head, were set down against the late sun slanting through thin gray clouds.  When he looked up, I saw his icy blue eyes, the dark tattoos lining his nose and chin.  The tattoos told me he was a Templar—brutal, and dangerous.  The eyes told me he was another kind of danger.  One I might want to try.  

I set down the stack of books in my arms and leaned against a shelf.  "Something I can do for you?“

He looked me over, and I liked it.  "Maker, I hope so.”  His voice was deep and seductive, and his accent—pure Starkhaven—hit me right in the gut.  And a little lower.  "Have you got a first edition of  _The Dasher’s Men_  by Varric Tethras?“  

Not so odd a question—lots of collectors picking up Tethras these days—but he didn’t look the type.  I was fairly sure that edition was nowhere to be found.  There were hardly any prints of it made, and even if Messere Tethras was popular now, his first book still wasn’t.  I reached for the rare book index I kept for questions like these, and thumbed through the pages.      

From the corner of my eye, I watched him cross over to me.  He placed his hands on the table where I was searching and leaned over, close.  "Or an original pamphlet of Divine Rosamund and her… perfumed sanctuary?” he asked, his voice low.  I could smell the starch in his shirt, and the sweat at his collar.  

I closed the book, and eyed him, wondering what his game was.  A Templar trolling for a centuries-old dirty book?  "Nobody would.  They say only one collector has that, and no one knows who she is.“

He stepped back with an approving smile.  "The bookseller I asked in Val Royeaux didn’t know that.”

“You’re a long way from Val Royeaux.”  I pushed up my glasses.  "This some kind of quiz show, or do you just want to butter me up?“  

"The latter.”  His eyes wandered down to my feet, and back up.  If he were another man, I’d have slapped him.  But he wasn’t another man.  

Thunder crashed, this time unmistakable, and the rain poured.  Finally.

He took a book, a dusty volume that hadn’t been picked up in a while, and opened it.  His finger grazed the edges.  "The shop across the way, deals in antiques and magical artifacts.  You know it?“  

Through the rain, I looked toward the dark windowed antique shop I stared at every damned day.  "I may have seen it.”  

He smiled, and slowly turned the pages of the book, not reading it at all.  

I dipped my toe into something I probably shouldn’t, but what’s swimming without a few waves?  "You know, I don’t get a lot of Templars in here shopping for books.  Or looking for antiques.“

He studied me for a moment.  "Well, I’m not a Templar any longer.  I can buy all the books I want,” he said with a smirk.

“But your face—”

“Some marks don’t fade.  Even with magic,” he said with a sigh, and folded the book shut.  "Doesn’t change the fact.  They’re all mad now.“  

I pulled my toe out.  That looked like deeper water than I wanted to dive into.

He gave me an easy smile.  "I’m just a private dick on a case, looking for information.”

“On rare books?”

He shook his head.  

“On a Tevinter mage,” he said.  "He sells to that shop, artifacts and such.  Goes by Cricket.  Real name Crassius Servis.“  

Servis.  I knew him, unfortunately.  

"What’s he look like?”  

“Tall,” I said, walking around the table to stand closer to him.  "Sallow skin, eyes pale blue.“  Close up, his own eyes were tinged with an aqua ring.  That’s where I wanted to go swimming.  "Eyebrows that could use a comb, short curly hair, oily, obsequious, has a posh accent that’s clearly fake, always flat broke… and he’d sell his own mother if it would get him something,” I finished.

He nodded, impressed.  "You’d make a good City Guardswoman.“  

"Thanks.”  Now that I’d told him what he wanted to know, he was sure to split.  But he lingered, staring out the window at that shop, loosening his tie.  "Gonna wait for him to come by?“ I asked.

"A wee bird told me he’d be around in about two hours.  Thought I’d wait in my car, unless…”  He turned to me, a sly smirk showing off a dimple just to the side of his full lips.  

My arm brushed against the sleeve of his coat.  "It’s raining pretty hard.  And there’s a decent bottle of single malt hanging around,“ I said, nodding toward the office in the back of the shop.

"Well.”  He leaned closer, his breath in my ear.  "It’d be more fun to get wet in here.“  

The rain cooled down the street, but he was smoldering, and I wanted to get burned.  I locked the front door, pulled down the shade, and headed to the back room.  He followed.      

It was still hot, sultry you might say, in the office, so I turned on a little desk fan and bent over to open a low cabinet behind the desk where I kept the liquor.  I hoped he was watching.  Part of me felt foolish, flaunting my… assets like a cat in heat.  But most of me didn’t care.  

I poured out two glasses and we said cheers.  The whisky was sweet but hard, a caramel punch to the mouth.  

Leaned against a bookshelf, I watched him watching me as he took off his hat.  His hair was dark auburn, just a little wavy, brushed back but loose enough to get your fingers into.  

"Hmm,” he said.

“Hmm, what?”  

His eyes were piercing.  "Just wondering what you would look like with your hair down.“  

I pushed off the bookshelf and went to the desk, glass in hand.  Slowly, I pulled out each pin holding my hair up, binding it back.  My frizzy curls fluffed out and down my shoulders as I shook them loose.  

He smiled and came closer.  "That’s what I thought you’d look like.”  

“What about the glasses?  That’s usually the first ask.”  I reached up to lift them from my nose when his hand gently grabbed my arm.  

“No,” he said.  "I like them.“  He let go of my hand and knocked back his whisky in a gulp.  He patted the edge of the desk.  "Sit here, lass.”

I sat back on the cool metal desk, and my skirt drifted up past my knees.  He watched that, too, and eased closer to the desk, to me, as I sipped my whisky.

He took the glass from me with a smirk, and set it somewhere to the side without taking his eyes off me.  His hand found its way to my leg, his fingers curling around my calf.  

My breath hitched, and I stroked his rough cheek.  Before I could pull my hand away, he grazed my wrist with a kiss.  

His eyes searched mine.  I couldn’t tell if he was waiting for me to move, or daring me.  So I dared.

I kissed him, hard.  I licked along his bottom lip and the sharp edges of his five o'clock shadow.  I breathed into him and tasted the whisky on his tongue.  He grunted and grabbed at my leg, his fingernails scratched against my nylons.  My shoe slipped from my foot and hit the floor with a leathery thud.  

He pulled back and held me steady.  "Wait,“ he said, his breath slowing.  He leaned in and kissed beneath my ear, and I shivered.  His hand slid up my leg, pushed up my skirt.  He fingered the edge of my garter, teasing, stroking my skin beneath the silky nylon, and my fingers curled against the desk.  

"Slowly, my girl,” he whispered, and snapped away my garter strap.  "We’ve got two hours.“  He nipped at my earlobe, and I bit my lip to keep from moaning.  "Let’s make the most of it, eh, lass?”

***

The rain finished.  So did we.  I walked out to the shop floor, smoothed down my skirt, and as I straightened my glasses, I saw Servis pull a car up to his usual spot across the street.

“I hate to tell you,” I said, “but that’s Servis now.”  He followed me, tucking in his shirt, reknotting his tie.  His eyes narrowed and tracked Servis, who slammed the car door, and sauntered into the shop.

“I’d better get after him.”  He slung on his jacket.  "Thanks,“ he said with a guarded smile, and replaced his hat.  

"If you ever need a book…?”  I reached for his arm, to pull him near, but shied away, nervous all of a sudden.  

“A first edition Tethras?” he asked.  

He brushed my cheek, softly, but he didn’t linger.  "So long, lass.“  

With a tip of his hat, he walked out of the store, and out of my life.


End file.
